and the inner workings of the seat applied pressure to my lower back. I took a sip of bubbly and waited for zone three to board.
I was nestled in my oversize duvet watching “Fences” when the dedicated flight attendant asked, “Will you be joining us for dinner?” It was 11:30 p.m. I chose the hamburger over the cold chicken salad. My tray was quickly covered with a cloth napkin — the white tablecloth of the skies.
What appeared to be a microwaved burger arrived with a selection of condiments, potato chips, an apple tart, some fruit — and my requested wine. I was promptly asked if I wanted a refill.
After my dinner was cleared and I’d watched most of “Fences,” I joined the rest of the cabin and triggered the 6-foot-plus bed. This was where I was supposed to fall asleep. In a reclining position, however, it became unequivocally apparent that I was trapped in a tin can shooting through the air.
I tossed and turned, and twitched into sleep only to be awakened by the sound of flight attendants moving through the aisle. I gasped awake 20 minutes before landing and hastily put my seat in the upright position.
On the ground in New York, the humidity seeped into the cabin. That’s when I truly appreciated the controlled environment of Delta One. I never once worried about the temperature, thirst, hunger, invading someone else’s space — or vice versa. From boarding to exiting the aircraft, I felt cared for.
But I was still uncomfortable. Not physically, of course, but because being seated and stretching out in an “exclusive” seat felt wrong to me at a time when the discrepancies between sections are stark and steadily increasing.
I don’t regret reveling in my heavenly blanket or saying “hi” to Paper Boi in the interest of journalism, but I’m going back to my roots. My next flight is booked in basic economy.